


Light on the Water

by Alette



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fallen Angels, Forests, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Time Skips, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:21:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27956069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alette/pseuds/Alette
Summary: Wooyoung is a spirit of the forest, the play of sunlight across the lake, and Yeosang is the once-angel that loves him.
Relationships: Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 30
Kudos: 108





	Light on the Water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaijui](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijui/gifts).



> Happy birthday avi ♡ i'm sorry this is late and i hope you'll like it! 
> 
> No credit to me for the story or concept, this all comes from avi's beautiful brain. This turned out a lot longer than i thought it would haha the concept kind of ran away from me! I hope you all enjoy it too, thank you for reading ♡

When light hits water, it glimmers. It comes alive on every crest, scattered across the surface like flawless diamonds, every one set in place with care by a loving deity. In one fleeting moment it takes on its own life, its own existence, ephemeral and ethereal.

That’s what Wooyoung is.

He’s not light, not water, but something and everything in between. He’s bright and burning, one infinitesimal moment spread out across an eternity. He’s not just alive. He’s life itself.

Hidden, Yeosang watches.

In this world detached from the world, Wooyoung is everything. This forest is his in every conceivable way, from the waters of the lake to the earth the trees take root in to the trees themselves, reaching up to the sky in silent prayer. Yeosang rests his hand on one, and the bark feels rough under his palm. It’s different now. He’s different now. 

Ahead, Wooyoung rests by the edge of the lake. He likes the lake, Yeosang knows, preferring its shimmering waters to the sturdy trees and creeping plant life of the rest of the forest. Yeosang knows but he can’t feel the same. The trees are solid, anchored deep in the earth. They feel more real. 

Yeosang is drawn to real. But he is also drawn to Wooyoung. 

He steps out from the cover of the trees and walks towards the lake.

The job was simple. The forest is important, a center point of the ancient energy that crisscrossed the planet like veins, and needs protection. The spirit of the forest must be kept safe, free of the corruption that claimed more and more of humanity and the pollution they spread. A simple job, but important.

Yeosang was given the honor of the service. 

He performed his duties faithfully. He raised the barriers, woven of his divine powers, strengthened them with his soul. Inside, the forest’s spirit could live free and safe. A good arrangement, a simple one, one Yeosang should have taken satisfaction in. 

But he had wanted more. He had _wanted_. 

It was a mortal flaw for a deity’s angel. 

Wooyoung’s eyes light up in fascination and delight but no recognition when he sees him, and he rises, crystal droplets falling from the hem of his silken robe. His smile glows with all the life of the forest. 

“Who are you?” he asks. 

And for the first time, Yeosang can say, “My name is Yeosang.”

“I like that name,” says Wooyoung, and that’s enough. He reaches out to Yeosang with an eager hand, and Yeosang takes it. It feels different, but familiar. This corporeal form is still alien to Yeosang, but he decides he likes it.

“What are you?” asks Wooyoung. 

“I don’t know,” says Yeosang. 

“You feel like a human,” says Wooyoung. “But humans can’t enter here. How did you cross the barrier? An angel made that, you know.”

Yeosang opens his mouth to answer, but no words come. He can’t speak of his existence as an angel. He can’t talk of even the smallest hint of his past life, his body automatically falling mute at the possibility of it. All the secrets of divinity are in his chest, and he can’t let a single one slip past his lips.

The curse of the fallen.

“It’s okay,” says Wooyoung soothingly, taking his silence for something else. “If you were able to cross the shield, you must be good.” He smiles. “I’m Wooyoung.”

Yeosang knows. “It’s good to see you,” he says. 

It started small. Yeosang would look down at the forest from above, make sure everything was going well and growing healthy. He would look over the trees, and the wildlife, the lake and the reeds and, more and more, the spirit of the forest. It took the form of a young man, dark haired and handsome, with a ready smile and clear eyes. He laughed often, piercingly loud, and it was oddly charming. 

Yeosang was charmed. 

He reasoned that he could perform his duties better if he talked to the spirit. He could hear from him directly if all was well, if he needed anything more. It was part of the service. It was part of Yeosang’s duties. 

The spirit was a creature of the earth, and Yeosang was one of the divine. They existed on different planes, but in dreams the borders were blurred, and Yeosang could approach him then. He arranged a physical form for himself, with hair like moonlight to match his aura, and slipped into the dreams of the forest spirit. 

Surprisingly, strangely, Yeosang was nervous. It mattered to him that the spirit was friendly to him, that he saw him as someone worth talking to. He wanted him to like him.

As soon as they crossed paths in the dreamscape, the spirit asked in wonder, “Who are you?”

“I am the angel that protects your forest,” said Yeosang. “I look down from above and keep you and your home safe.”

And the spirit believed him, face filling with a huge smile. “That’s amazing, thank you,” he said. “I’m Wooyoung. What’s your name?”

“I don’t have one,” said Yeosang, and it had been true then.

“Well that’s not right,” said Wooyoung, frowning. He immediately brightened. “It’s fine, we’ll think up one for you ourselves.”

After that, every night Yeosang came to see Wooyoung, the forest spirit would think of names for Yeosang to try. As an angel of the order Yeosang could never take any of them for his own, but he humored Wooyoung and listened and even discussed possibilities with him. He found that he was willing to humor Wooyoung a lot. Yeosang was quite willing to do anything if it kept the smile on Wooyoung’s face, if it made him laugh with delight and sincerity.

“This is impossible,” said Wooyoung with a huff one night. “You have to give me something to work with, so we’ll pick a name you like. What do you like, angel?”

“The deity,” said Yeosang automatically.

Wooyoung laughed. “No, I didn’t ask what you’re supposed to say,” he said with a teasing lilt, eyes alight with both mischief and fondness. “I want to know what you like.”

And the only thing Yeosang could think of to say was, _you_. He should have known then what would follow.

Wooyoung is a generous host. He makes a comfortable hollow for Yeosang to sleep in, a bed of ferns and moss, wide leaves for a roof. He shows him the best places to find fruit and roots to eat, fresh water to drink, which creatures are friendly to play with and which prefer to be left alone. When it rains Wooyoung raises a canopy of wide leaves, and sits with Yeosang to watch the rain fall over the lake. 

“You don’t need to bore yourself with me,” says Yeosang. “I know you like playing in the rain.”

“I’m not bored with you,” says Wooyoung. He turns to Yeosang and bats his eyelashes at him. “Unless you’re bored of me?” 

Yeosang laughs.

“Then it’s settled,” says Wooyoung, satisfied. “Do you like the rain, Yeosang?”

Yeosang thinks for a moment. “Yes,” he says finally, looking out across the lake. “I like it. It makes me feel like everything is starting anew.”

When he turns back to Wooyoung, he finds him staring at the sky. There’s a look of longing in his gaze, and emotions too human for Yeosang to be familiar with. Yeosang watches him, enraptured. He wonders what Wooyoung’s thinking. He wonders what Wooyoung’s looking for in the heavens.

When the silence stretches too long, Wooyoung blinks and looks back at Yeosang. A smile splits his face. “Were you watching me?” he asks.

“No,” says Yeosang, and then he starts in realization. It’s his first ever lie. 

“You don’t need to lie,” says Wooyoung, grinning. He tosses his head exaggeratedly. “I know I’m beautiful.”

He is, so beautiful, but Yeosang doesn’t need to tell him that and he can’t anyway, he can’t imagine speaking the words aloud. So instead he shoves Wooyoung, pushing him out into the rain. Wooyoung laughs as he rolls across the grass, and then he lies flat on the ground, eyes closed and face angled to feel the full weight of the raindrops. 

Yeosang watches him from the shelter, a smile on his face. 

The higher order called for his presence. Yeosang went obediently. He was an angel; his very nature was obedience. 

But when the angel too high for him to even see the features of spoke, they said, “You have disobeyed.”

Another said, “You have lusted.”

The third said, “You have strayed.”

“Do you deny?” the first asked.

And Yeosang couldn’t. He had disobeyed. He had taken a form to visit Wooyoung in his dreams. He had disobeyed the divine order of detached duty, of silent service.

He had lusted. He wanted Wooyoung. He desired a life with him, an existence where he could touch his body, his real body, feel his hands and skin and warmth. He had lusted for Wooyoung’s company and affection.

He had strayed.

“I will accept my punishment,” said Yeosang.

“The greatest punishment,” said the first of the higher order.

“The stripping of divinity,” said the second.

“The fall,” said the third.

Fear took hold of Yeosang. He had heard of angels who had fallen from the order, but no one knew what became of them. They would take his divinity from him, but what was Yeosang without it? What was he if not an angel of the order? 

The first of the higher order, radiant with a divine energy so strong Yeosang couldn’t see their features, reached out with a hand. One fingertip rested on Yeosang’s cheek, below his eye. 

“The deity is merciful,” they said.

The power drained from Yeosang. The radiant divine energy that Yeosang had always thought of as his soul left him, drawn through the single fingertip on his face, slipping away as easily as water. And Yeosang fell, he fell backwards and through the barrier between the divine plane and the mortal one, falling endlessly, endlessly, until he didn’t know how long it had been and his eyes shut.

When Yeosang woke up, he found trees dappled in golden sunlight above him, and fresh wild grass below. 

The deity was merciful.

It’s a shame, he thinks, that Wooyoung doesn’t know who he is. But maybe it’s a blessing too.

The new form is difficult for Yeosang. As an angel he was part of the order, part of the divinity and, by extension, the deity themselves. In this human-like body, Yeosang is alone. He can’t reach out and feel the sea of others of his kind. He can’t drift into the peace of his nature, the unfailing faith in his duty. All he is is himself. And Yeosang is lost.

He doesn’t know where to go. He doesn’t know what to do now. There is no higher order to guide him, no commands from an infallible power that he can put his blind faith in. It’s only Yeosang. 

His only guide is Wooyoung. Wooyoung is his compass, his Polaris. Yeosang can only follow him helplessly.

It’s not easy. Wooyoung is his sun, but Yeosang is only one of a thousand planets to him. There’s no one else in a similar form to him like Yeosang, but Wooyoung can speak to the creatures of the forest just as well. They follow him sometimes, like a train in service to their king. Or priests worshiping a god. 

And Yeosang doesn’t want to follow. He doesn’t want to follow again. He lost the deity for Wooyoung; he won’t put Wooyoung in the same place. But Wooyoung can’t quite get the concept of friends. He can’t quite understand that he can take, but he must give too, and sometimes he must give what he doesn’t want to.

The first shift happens in winter. 

The days steadily grow colder, the nights frost over. For the first time Yeosang can feel it. He can feel the bite of the winter wind, the way it cuts his skin like knives, gnaws at his bones. He’s not some incorporeal collection of divine energy drifting among the stars; he is Yeosang, and he is real, and he is cold. 

There’s less and less food as the days go from chilly to freezing. Most of the fruit has been long finished, the edible roots shriveling up as the earth dries. The naked trees stand unashamed against the gray skies. The birds fly to warmer lands and the animals burrow underground to sleep through the worst of it, but Yeosang has no such option. He is trapped in his body. 

This was what he wanted, he realizes bitterly. Yeosang wanted to live, not only exist, and this is life. Bitter cold and starving as the forest falls dormant around him.

Wooyoung is nowhere to be found. 

Yeosang first waits in his hollow, expecting Wooyoung to look for him, ask after his condition. Wooyoung doesn’t come. Then Yeosang sets out to find him. The forest is large and difficult to navigate, even more so now that the skies are cloudy and there’s no hint of the sun. Yeosang wastes a day wandering, lost, spending a freezing night curled up by the base of a tree. The next day he continues his search, despair growing as the hunger does. 

Yeosang might die. He doesn’t realize until then that he might die.

It’s past sunset on the second day Yeosang finds him.

He’s by the lake, as Yeosang should have expected. He’s sitting at the bank, gazing at the still water, but he hears Yeosang’s approach and gets up. “Yeosang, come see,” says Wooyoung excitedly. “The water is so clear today.”

There’s a smile on his face, brighter than the summer sun. It’s the smile that makes Yeosang snap. He strides forward, right up to Wooyoung and his beaming face, and pushes him hard, square in the chest. 

Wooyoung staggers back, smile falling as shock takes over his features. 

Yeosang gets one look at his stupid surprised face before he collapses.

When he wakes, he’s warm and his stomach is full. He’s laying on something soft, and above him is a roof of natural stone. He’s been wrapped in a blanket of sorts woven of leaves and mosses. Before he can move a heavy weight falls on him, forcing all the air out of his lungs.

“You’re alive,” says a voice high with worry. “I was scared you wouldn’t wake up.”

It’s Wooyoung. Yeosang knows him, feels his warmth as he hugs him tight. He doesn’t hug back. 

When Wooyoung finally lets go Yeosang gets a better look at his surroundings. He’s in a cave, the mouth of it too far for him to see. It’s warm inside, even with no fire burning. The cave is illuminated by crystals set all along the walls, faintly emitting a bluish glow. Flowers grow from the stone floor against all reason, lush and beautiful even in the middle of winter. Yeosang sits up and looks at Wooyoung. 

Wooyoung is biting his bottom lip. “I didn’t know you were in such bad shape,” he says finally. “All the animals hibernate or store up for winter, I don’t ever need to check on them.”

“I’m not an animal,” says Yeosang.

The air that settles after that is as frigid as the winter air outside the cave. Yeosang spots a large store of food, as well as water, and bedding to wrap himself in to protect himself from the cold if he needs it. He doesn’t need it. The cave seems to possess its own warmth, gentle on his skin. Of course, Wooyoung is master of this land, and can control the warmth in the cave system built into the hillside. The realization only makes Yeosang more upset.

He doesn’t talk to Wooyoung for the rest of the day. Wooyoung, to Yeosang’s surprise, doesn’t push. He hovers around Yeosang, awkward, as Yeosang explores the cave and looks for the mouth of it to be sure of where he is. Guilt pours off Wooyoung in waves, but he doesn’t admit it, only trails behind Yeosang like a chastised puppy.

This continues for a few days, until Wooyoung breaks and attempts conversation. It’s awkward and forced, and he hesitates a thousand times before barreling forward with his words. Yeosang still won’t bend to his will. The pain of Wooyoung’s neglect sits like a thorn in the center of his heart, and he can’t pull it out. 

One night, when Yeosang is tired and his body wants sleep, Wooyoung follows him to his bed. 

“Can I sleep here with you?” he asks carefully.

“You don’t need to sleep,” says Yeosang.

“But you do,” says Wooyoung. “You’re different from me. I forgot that.”

It’s not an apology, but even this admission is more than Yeosang expected. He lets Wooyoung climb into the bed beside him.

As they lie together in the faint light of the luminescent crystals, Yeosang’s heart is unsettled. It hurts, knowing Wooyoung forgot that Yeosang needs him, knowing that he forgot Yeosang entirely. But he can’t hate Wooyoung for it.

It’s his nature. Wooyoung is the forest, he’s life unbridled. He can’t devote himself to Yeosang the way Yeosang is devoted to him. Yeosang can’t expect that of him. He can’t expect him to change. 

Wooyoung’s arm snakes around Yeosang, and he presses his face to the back of Yeosang’s neck. Yeosang’s heart skips a beat and he wills it to calm down.

“Yeosang, I’m sorry.”

Yeosang freezes in shock. 

“I didn’t know you’d get so weak,” murmurs Wooyoung, voice low and quiet with regret. “I didn’t know but I should’ve, I should’ve paid more attention to you. You got so cold and skinny and I didn’t even realize. You slept for a long time after you pushed me and I was scared you were going to die because of me. I’m really sorry.”

Yeosang is too taken aback to speak. Wooyoung’s arm is still around his waist, his body radiating heat against his back. The cave and the flowers erupted from the stone floor are all bathed in the light of the crystals of the walls, and it looks and feels like a dream.

“I’ve never said sorry to anyone before,” says Wooyoung. “Please say it’s okay.”

Yeosang turns to face Wooyoung. The spirit’s face is aglow with the faint blue light, his plush bottom lip jutting out. “It’s okay,” says Yeosang softly. 

Wooyoung hugs Yeosang tight, burrowing his face in the crook of his neck. Yeosang exhales slowly and puts his arm around Wooyoung in return. 

Wooyoung likes the lake. It’s the only time he’s quiet, sitting by its shore and staring into its depths. Yeosang sits beside him in silence, watching the surface with him but not seeing what it is that so swallows Wooyoung’s attention. One day, in early spring when the winter frost is still melting and the grass is only breaking the cold ground, Yeosang asks.

“I want to go there,” says Wooyoung.

Yeosang doesn’t understand. “You are here,” he says. “This is your lake, Wooyoung.”

“Not here,” says Wooyoung, like it’s obvious. “ _There_.”

He motions to the surface of the lake. Yeosang tries to see what Wooyoung obviously sees. He sees the light play on the water, the way it glimmers when the wind picks up and the surface ripples. He sees himself reflected in the water, with his plain brown hair, the red mark by his eye where his divinity was pulled from him. And he sees Wooyoung, his bright gaze reflected in the clear water, the life in his eyes and the beauty of his features, the way he gazes across the water like it holds everything he has ever wanted.

“I don’t understand,” murmurs Yeosang.

Wooyoung tears his gaze away from the lake to look at him. “It’s the sky, Yeosang.” 

And yes, Yeosang sees it now. Beyond Wooyoung, Yeosang and the edge of the hill overlooking the clearing, the sky is reflected in the lake water. Bright blue, with flawless white clouds floating across. 

“You don’t need the lake to see it,” says Yeosang. 

“But it’s better like this,” says Wooyoung, turning back to the lake. “It makes me feel like it’s close, that I can actually dive in and be there.” He runs his fingers over the surface, disturbing the reflection. “It’s so beautiful.”

“It’s only the sky,” says Yeosang. _It’s better here_ , he wants to say, but his mouth won’t form the words. 

“It’s not _only_ the sky!” Wooyoung bounces to face Yeosang. “It’s so big, and there’s so much! I want to see what’s up there. It must be so amazing.”

Yeosang was up there, in a way, when he was the nameless angel looking down and watching over the forest. But now he’s down here and he has a name, and it’s better. The sky isn’t anything, space isn’t anything. The forest is alive.

“I like it here,” he says.

Wooyoung huffs. “Of course _you_ would,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You can’t imagine how amazing it would be up there.”

 _No, I can’t_ , Yeosang wants to say, but it seems the curse applies even to sarcasm, and Yeosang finds it so funny he grins. Wooyoung just huffs again, annoyed.

Yeosang takes pity on him and says, “You should be happy here. You have a home.”

Yeosang doesn’t. His home was the order, the embrace of the deity, but he doesn’t have that anymore. He has no place that is his. He’s alive, but he’s homeless, belonging nowhere. 

And Wooyoung wants to give that up for emptiness. Yeosang doesn’t understand. 

“So what?” grumbles Wooyoung. “It’s nothing special.”

If Yeosang didn’t love Wooyoung so much, he thinks he’d hate him. “You wouldn’t say that if you were like me and had no home,” he says. 

Wooyoung frowns. “What are you talking about? This is your home too.”

There’s something about the forest spirit that has the ability to throw Yeosang over completely. It’s happening now, as he stares at Wooyoung, mouth open as he processes his words. Wooyoung doesn’t even realize, already turning back to the lake and grumbling about how narrow Yeosang’s mind is. 

They’re just words to Wooyoung, carelessly spoken, but it’s everything to Yeosang. 

He shifts closer to Wooyoung, just an inch, and looks into the lake. 

The second shift happens when Wooyoung receives visitors.

Seonghwa is tall and handsome and made of stars. Yeosang sees them drift around his crown, settle on his high cheekbones. His robes are made of starshine the way Wooyoung’s are made of the light dancing on water, his hair dark like the emptiness of space. 

In comparison, Hongjoong looks vibrant and full of life. His hair is blinding red, his smile playful, his build slender. When he shakes his hair flower petals fall out of it. When he stretches his arms the ground around him bursts into bloom, exotic flowers growing on thorny vines and from lush bushes that grow in one second what should take years.

Wooyoung is buzzing with excitement as soon as they arrive. He teases them endlessly, refusing to leave their side, drawing them into all his amusements. Yeosang hangs back, not knowing how welcome he is. It’s Seonghwa who calls him to them, Hongjoong who speaks easily and in a friendly way, until Yeosang lets fall some of the barriers he has put up.

The first thing he learns is that Wooyoung is incredibly fond of both of them, though he claims that he isn’t. He wraps himself around Seonghwa and pokes at him, and plays with him like a child. He does his best to rile at Hongjoong, cackles when the other earth spirit finally snaps at him. It’s always fond though. Seonghwa and Hongjoong are fond of Wooyoung in return, and together the three of them make the forest feel even more alive.

The second thing Yeosang learns is that Seonghwa and Hongjoong are in love.

Hongjoong is holding Seonghwa’s hand the first time Yeosang sees them, but Yeosang doesn’t think too much of it. Wooyoung is physically affectionate like that, every touch casual and thoughtless. But when they speak, Seonghwa’s gaze drifts to Hongjoong, and he watches him like every word that falls from his lips is the most beautiful melody. Hongjoong’s eyes track Seonghwa when he plays with Wooyoung. When Seonghwa trips and falls, Hongjoong is already half up before he realizes it’s not a hard fall and settles back down, pretending like nothing happened and no one saw him. 

But Yeosang sees. He sees more and more, until he knows the meaning behind every glance, every touch, the flowers Hongjoong places in Seonghwa’s hair even though they die every night.

It’s so strange. Hongjoong is an earth-bonded spirit like Wooyoung, to the flowers scattered across the world instead of one fixed forest, but he loves Seonghwa. He is devoted to Seonghwa. 

Yeosang thought nature spirits couldn’t be devoted to someone like that. He thought Wooyoung couldn’t be devoted to someone.

The realization that it’s possible colors Yeosang’s every observation of the two visitors. He sees Hongjoong spill flowers into Seonghwa’s lap and his eyes drift to Wooyoung. He watches Seonghwa deftly weave petals into wreaths and wear them, the way Hongjoong admires him even if he pretends not to, and Yeosang’s heart longs for something similar. Sometimes the stars that drift around Seonghwa’s brow are drawn to Hongjoong, coloring his lush red hair with the hues of a nebula, and to them it’s nothing but to Yeosang it’s so incredible, so precious. They are in love. 

It’s cruel. Before, Yeosang had reached something almost like acceptance, resignation. But now he knows it’s possible for others, just not him, and his acceptance is being chipped away. He’s not like before, when he was happy just giving love to the deity, needing nothing in return beyond the embrace of belonging and divinity and the knowledge he was doing good service. He wants now. Yeosang wants to receive love in return. 

“You watch Hongjoong and Seonghwa a lot,” says Wooyoung one day, when the two visitors are nestled together in a little nook separate, Seonghwa peppering kisses onto Hongjoong’s rosy cheeks. Yeosang knows he should hate how openly affectionate they are, but all he feels is longing. 

When Yeosang doesn’t reply, Wooyoung says, more annoyed this time, “You know neither of them like you.”

Yeosang knows what Wooyoung is trying to say, which is why he sighs. “I know,” he says. 

“They won’t look at anyone like that except each other,” says Wooyoung. 

_And will you look at me like that?_ But Yeosang doesn’t say the words. He just settles on the summer grass and watches. 

The lovers stay for long, through summer and autumn, until the leaves start falling from the trees and the forest is carpeted in rich reds and browns. Hongjoong starts sleeping more and more, drifting off with his head on Seonghwa’s shoulder, head nodding in the middle of conversations. In the end, the two decide to leave.

“He will sleep through winter to wake in the spring,” says Seonghwa. 

“And what will you do?” asks Yeosang.

“I will return to the stars for a while,” says Seonghwa. His eyes are warm as they look over Yeosang. “I know what you once were.”

Yeosang can’t reply. He can’t even nod, only stare back at Seonghwa. 

“There’s a reason people look upwards when they seek heaven,” says Seonghwa, smiling gently. “I can tell you know the skies, and the place that exists where I can’t travel. What happened to you, angel? How did you end up here?”

Yeosang wants to tell him, but the curse traps the words. Helplessly, he looks over to where Wooyoung sits with Hongjoong.

Seonghwa understands anyway. There’s a pity in his eyes that makes Yeosang want to crumble. “I hope you’ll find the sacrifice worth it,” he says. 

_I hope so too,_ thinks Yeosang.

Wooyoung is sulky when the two of them leave, Seonghwa carrying a sleeping Hongjoong in his arms. He’s even more difficult to be around after they’ve gone, endlessly complaining about them leaving him, how they betrayed him by going, how next time they came to visit he wouldn’t let them into his forest at all. Yeosang listens to his childish tantrums with disguised fondness.

“I’m glad you have nowhere to go,” says Wooyoung with a huff. 

It’s the truth; Yeosang has nowhere to go but to Wooyoung. Yeosang just sighs and says, “I’m happy you’re glad.” And that’s true too. 

“I’m going to leave the forest,” announces Wooyoung.

They’re in the cave Yeosang spent last winter in, where it’s always warm and crystals light the walls. Yeosang is huddled in a blanket Wooyoung gave to him as soon as the chill set in the air, and he wraps it tighter around his shoulders. 

“Where?” he asks.

“Up,” says Wooyoung.

The sky. It’s always the sky for Wooyoung. He’s drawn to the expanse above in the same way Yeosang was drawn to the forest teeming with life and Wooyoung’s piercing laugh. 

Yeosang shakes his head. “You can’t go there,” he says. “The forest is your power.”

“I’ll find a way,” says Wooyoung. 

“Forget the sky, Wooyoung,” says Yeosang. “Stay home. Stay here.” _Stay with me._

“You wouldn’t understand,” says Wooyoung, snapping his face away. “You don’t know anything.”

Yeosang knows too much. He knows that without the earth’s energy Wooyoung won’t be able to reach the plane where the stars are placed, where Seonghwa and the others like him live. Wooyoung is a forest spirit, an earth spirit. He can’t go so far. 

Yeosang also knows there is no point telling Wooyoung that. He doesn’t want to hear it, so he won’t. Wooyoung wants to explore the sky, and Yeosang still doesn’t understand what it is that draws him to the empty expanse.

“What if something happens to you?” asks Yeosang, appealing to whatever sense of preservation the forest spirit might have.

“Nothing will happen to me,” says Wooyoung confidently.

“Don’t go, Wooyoung,” says Yeosang. He bites his lip and pulls the blanket up to his chin. The cave is warm, but the thought of Wooyoung leaving sets a chill in his bones.

Oddly, Wooyoung hesitates. “Will you be okay without me?” he asks. “During winter. If I go, will you be okay?”

Yeosang stares at him, reading the emotions on his open face. Wooyoung is concerned. He is worried for Yeosang’s wellbeing. He’s willing to delay what he wants, what he’s wanted for so long, just to make sure Yeosang will be okay.

“No,” says Yeosang. “I won’t be okay. Stay with me.”

And Wooyoung does, for the rest of the winter.

The third shift happens slow like the change of the seasons.

Winter fades and spring takes her seat. The fresh shoots break through the ground that was frozen over. The leaves slowly form and open on the trees, the flowers bud and bloom. The forest comes alive again as the bitter cold retreats.

“Will Seonghwa and Hongjoong come again this year?” asks Yeosang. 

“Maybe,” says Wooyoung. He grins at Yeosang mischievously. “Why, do you miss them?”

“Yes,” says Yeosang.

The blunt answer catches Wooyoung off guard. For the rest of the day he acts strange, a little suspicious, a little sulky. Yeosang just laughs to himself, amused. Wooyoung often gets into childish moods. It’s one of the traits of the earth-bonded spirits; Yeosang noticed it in Hongjoong as well.

Wooyoung’s moods are difficult to understand sometimes. As the days warm he spends less time by the lake and more in Yeosang’s hollow. One day Yeosang wakes up assaulted by a mix of strong scents and finds the entire floor of his hollow covered in flowers, all of them releasing scents that would have been sweet alone but are overpowering in combination. Yeosang snaps at Wooyoung until he makes the flowers go away, grumbling the entire time. 

Another day Wooyoung insists he wants to live as Yeosang, doing only things Yeosang likes. For the rest of the day he’s annoyed and prickly as he sits beside Yeosang while he spends his time petting the peaceful woodland animals, letting the squirrels curl around his neck, having his hair be a nest for the sparrows and robins. But true to his word, Wooyoung stays, even if he grumbles and complains of boredom the entire time.

As spring picks up into summer, Yeosang asks about Seonghwa and Hongjoong again. Watching them makes his heart ache but fills it at the same time, and he finds that he’s fond of them too.

“Maybe, when it gets really hot,” says Wooyoung. This time he doesn’t hesitate and asks, “Why?”

“We haven’t seen them in a while,” says Yeosang. 

“You said you missed them,” says Wooyoung. 

Yeosang doesn’t remember saying that, but it sounds like him. “Don’t you?” he asks.

Wooyoung doesn’t answer the question, instead asking stubbornly, “Why do you miss them?” 

“Because they’re nice to be around, Wooyoung,” says Yeosang.

“And I’m not?” demands Wooyoung. 

Yeosang feels like they’re having two different conversations. He won’t give in and bend to Wooyoung’s will, however. “It’s nice watching them,” he says. “They’re sweet with each other.”

“They’re in love,” says Wooyoung.

Yeosang’s heart aches, and the conversation isn’t fun anymore. “I know,” he says.

It’s another pointless conversation that soon leaves Yeosang’s mind. But Wooyoung, it seems, remembers. 

One day, when the sun is just touching the horizon and the sky is pink with the promise of a clear twilight, and they’re together in Yeosang’s hollow filled with flowers that emanate only the softest scent, Wooyoung asks, “What do you like?” 

Yeosang thinks for a moment. “I like the forest,” he says. “I like the animals that play in it.”

“What else?” asks Wooyoung.

“The trees,” says Yeosang. “I like how strong they are, but how they know to change with the seasons instead of resisting.”

“But you must like something more,” insists Wooyoung.

“The warmth of the sun on my skin,” says Yeosang. “I like the way it feels in the morning, and in the afternoon, before the sun sets. I like it most in winter when everything is frozen.” _The deity sends their love through it_ , he wants to say, but the words won’t come. He accepts it and smiles.

Acceptance is a wonderful thing, Yeosang’s come to learn. But Wooyoung never received the same lessons Yeosang did. 

“What else?” asks Wooyoung, getting worked up. “What do you like most of all?”

“Why, Wooyoung, what do you want me to say?” asks Yeosang. “What do you like most of all? The sky?”

But that’s not what Wooyoung wants to hear. He jumps to his feet and storms away, in the direction of the lake. Yeosang watches him, and debates letting him go fume and throw his tantrum alone. But he’s nothing if not weak, and rises to follow. 

By now Yeosang knows the paths of the forest well. There are markers along the way in any case, set by Wooyoung after he heard Yeosang got lost when he was looking for him that terrible winter. An unexpected show of thoughtfulness. 

He finds Wooyoung by the lake, pacing in front of it. The spirit looks up as Yeosang approaches, and Yeosang can read distress in his features. He is upset.

“What do you want?” asks Yeosang, because he loves Wooyoung but he’s tired too, he’s tired of giving and he can’t stop. Sometimes it feels like there’s nothing left to give, but he tries anyway. 

He gave up divinity for Wooyoung. He gave his heart, his existence, his love. He doesn’t know what else he has to give.

“I don’t know!” cries Wooyoung, whirling to face him. “Say you like me!” 

“Does it mean so much to you if I like you?” asks Yeosang. 

“Yes it does!” says Wooyoung. “So say it, right now!”

Yeosang swallows. “Wooyoung…” 

“Say you like me more than you like the trees, and the animals,” says Wooyoung, storming up to him. “Say you like me more than the sun. Say you like me more than anything else.”

Yeosang stares at Wooyoung and his burning eyes, and something in him snaps. He won’t. He won’t say it. He’s given Wooyoung everything; he won’t give him the truth, not for nothing in return. He isn’t an angel anymore, he can’t be happy with just giving. 

“Why?” demands Yeosang. “Why should I say it?”

“Because I told you to,” says Wooyoung.

But that’s not enough for Yeosang. “Do you like me?” he challenges back, refusing to bend, refusing to give. “Do you like me more than anything? Do you like me more than the sky?”

“Yes!” yells Wooyoung.

Shock stops Yeosang in his tracks. He stares at Wooyoung wide-eyed, the word ringing in his ears. He can’t understand what’s happening, but Wooyoung gives him no time to think, no time to breathe.

“Yes, I do,” says Wooyoung, not even noticing Yeosang’s shock. “I like you more than the sky, and all the stars, and everything else. I like you the most. So you need to like me the most too, you can’t like Hongjoong or Seonghwa or—or the stupid sun, or the forest—”

Yeosang grabs Wooyoung and pulls him into an embrace.

Wooyoung stiffens in his arms, and then he relaxes, and his arms go around Yeosang too, enveloping him in his warmth. He smells like he always does, fresh and vibrant, the forest alive. His skin is like the sunlight through the forest canopy.

“I like you the most too, Wooyoung,” says Yeosang softly.

Wooyoung’s embrace tightens around Yeosang and, finally, he falls silent. 

The sun is just dipped under the horizon when Wooyoung asks Yeosang to swim in the lake with him.

He asks often, but Yeosang always refuses. He never learned how to swim, and the lake is so clear, so pure, he’s almost scared his presence will tarnish it. But Wooyoung insists, and promises he’ll take care of him. So Yeosang agrees. 

Things feel different now, he thinks as he wades into the shallow waters. The air slowly grows cooler as autumn approaches and the harshest days of summer are done. Wooyoung is as playful and vibrant as ever, teasing Yeosang as always and dragging him into his games and amusements. But sometimes, when the sun is setting and everything is awash in red and orange, Yeosang turns to Wooyoung and finds him already looking at him, features warm like the sunset. When it’s hot Wooyoung blows cool air on Yeosang’s cheeks, and then he smiles to himself, pleased. He calls flowers to bloom and spills them in Yeosang’s lap, and watches his reaction intently. When Yeosang allows one side of his lips to curl in a smile, Wooyoung bursts into a delighted laugh, and runs off in search of anything else that might make Yeosang smile.

There is a change in the air along with the move in seasons. It’s alive and ephemeral, like the light dancing on the surface of the lake, but it is real.

Wooyoung stays close as they enter the deeper waters. He holds Yeosang with gentle strength, keeping him afloat. Yeosang puts his life into Wooyoung’s hands without hesitation. Things have changed. He knows Wooyoung would never be careless now, not when it might hurt him.

Quickly Yeosang becomes used to the water, and can soon float on his back, drifting across the surface while Wooyoung swims nearby. Above him the sky has darkened into twilight, and the stars slowly reveal themselves in the endless expanse.

“Do you think that’s where angels live?” 

Yeosang turns his head to face Wooyoung, but Wooyoung is not looking at him. He’s staring up at the sky, at the stars that stretch across. Yeosang can’t answer.

“You know, I used to know an angel,” says Wooyoung, and his voice is quiet, calm. “He protected my forest. He used to come see me in my dreams. We’d talk all the time. I couldn’t really see his face but I know he was beautiful. His hair was bright like the moon. He didn’t have a name, and I tried really hard to find one for him, but he never picked any of them.”

Yeosang swallows. His chest aches, but he can’t speak. He can only listen.

“He disappeared one day,” continues Wooyoung. A shadow of sadness flits across his face before it’s gone. “He stopped coming to see me in my dreams. I don’t know what happened to him.”

 _I’m sorry,_ Yeosang wants to say, but he can’t. He wants to tell Wooyoung that he didn’t leave him, that he couldn’t, but the words refuse to leave his lips.

“I just wanted to see him again,” says Wooyoung. He bites his lower lip. “I thought if I went up there, I could find him. He said he looked down at me from above so that means he’s up in the sky, right? If I go up there, I can find him there. I can see him again.”

“You _wanted_ to see him?” Every heartbeat is painful in Yeosang’s chest. He doesn’t know what he hopes to hear. “You don’t want to anymore?”

“I do,” says Wooyoung, eyes still on the sky above. “I miss him a lot.” He lowers his gaze to look at Yeosang. “But I’d rather stay here with you.”

Yeosang parts his lips, but no words come. It isn’t the curse that renders him mute this time, though. It’s only Wooyoung.

“You like me the most too, right?” says Wooyoung, voice soft. “You’ll stay with me? Because even if the angel came back, even if he asked me to go with him, I’d stay with you.”

Yeosang reaches out for him, but he only succeeds in losing his balance and sinking into the water. He goes under for a moment before Wooyoung pulls him up, arms strong around his waist. He holds Yeosang close to him, as bright as the light, as solid as the trees.

“I’ll stay with you,” says Yeosang, breathless, hands wet as he cups Wooyoung’s face. “I like you the most. Wooyoung, I love you.”

Wooyoung’s eyes glimmer, and he pulls Yeosang close and kisses him. 

It’s soft, ethereal. It’s ephemeral, one infinitesimal moment stretched out across infinity, taking on its own life. It’s magic like the play of light on the water. 

When they part, Wooyoung is smiling, and Yeosang smiles too. 

“I love you, Yeosang,” says Wooyoung. 

He is fallen. He falls mute when he tries to speak of his past. He’s like human, with no magic, no aura, no hair like moonlight and no radiant energy. 

He’s warm in the winter. He has a soft hollow to sleep in summer, a cave lit with crystals when the chill falls. He has peace and the company of a thousand woodland animals, the friendship of creatures of flowers and stars. He has a name. 

He is beloved by a forest spirit. 

That’s what Yeosang is. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can talk to me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/alette_star), and [CuriousCat](https://curiouscat.me/alette_star). Thanks for reading!


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